


Tooth and Nail

by Coyote Grins (Inksinger)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 20:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16415696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksinger/pseuds/Coyote%20Grins
Summary: Another completed request, this time for tumblr user haleth!





	Tooth and Nail

The air between them seethes with intensity, unspoken and without action as they bring themselves to the privacy of their quarters. All day long the two have been apart; now that they at last have time to themselves, their urgency is a burning, palpable thing, and it drives them forward unrelenting until they find themselves at last behind closed doors.

It begins like the first few sparks of a new-lit flame: Passion roils between them for a long moment, stoked by lips brushed against throats and wrists, and by teasing touches that swiftly lengthen into sensual caresses. Each stroke of a hand across burning flesh comes firm and edged with a gentle aching as fingertips begin to dig into limbs and bellies, and when their lips finally meet the collision is one bristling with teeth.

One kiss turns into another and then a third, each one hungrier than the one before, and like embers on dry tinder they ignite around each other in a sudden flurry of motion. Bodies rock and tangle about each other as their hands fly between heated skin and unfortunate, inconvenient clothing. Little care is taken as they disrobe each other; what little patience either had for gentleness has been tested by their brief foreplay and now thoroughly demolished in the inferno of their shared lust. Varian's belt is ripped off hard enough to snap against his legs, and Ziri's tunic drags at her hair as it's torn over her head and thrown aside. Each wear laced breeches, and those laces are tested and torn at in the pair's haste to disrobe and be on their way.

Both sets of undergarments let out audible protests when it comes their turn to be dragged aside. Zireael is certain she feels cotton tear against her hip and growls in approval at the dull, momentary pain it rouses through her skin. It's feral, perhaps even savage, the way they claw at each other in the throes of their fast-burning lust - but far from rousing any sort of shame or second thought, instead the notion stokes both of them further still, encouraging them to delve to their basest selves as they stumble back towards the great, soft bed they will eventually share.

Caught in the heat of their passion, desire and primal instinct bleed together into a single, all-encompassing torrent, and soon the hungry kisses begin to give way to the dragging, bruising attentions of their teeth as the pair each nip and suck at whatever patch of flesh their partner allows them easy access to. Ziri is wilier than her king in this, and at last Varian gives a long, low, rasping growl and laces one scarred hand into the hair at the back of her head to draw her head back and bare her throat. The night elf hisses in pleasure, and her hands convulse instinctively where they grab at the hard muscles of his back, driving her nails into his skin hard enough that she draws a double handful of long, red welts into his skin.

Neither participant is willing to be the first to fall across the mattress; doing so would be tantamount to conceding their unspoken competition, and neither Zireael nor Varian are the sort to simply tuck their tails and _submit._ Instead, although they stand with their legs quite thoroughly flush against the side of the bed, for that seems an endless length of time they remain upright, grabbing and nipping and growling into each other as though this might be the very last time either sees or has the chance to hold the other.

When they finally do collapse onto the soft furs of the bed, they fall together, each dragging the other and each permitting themselves to be dragged down to continue their wrestle for dominance without the worry of tripping over each other - though that, too, could have provided more than a few entertaining twists to the encounter. Certainly neither of them are tame enough by this stage that something as small as the dull pain of knees striking the floor in an unceremonious tumble would be enough to break them from the haze of their lovemaking.

Though their endeavor has thus far been anything but quiet, neither Varian nor Zireael have uttered a word since they first stumbled together into the privacy of their chamber. It is only now, as they twist about each other in the throes of their desperate, mutual desire, that they at last begin to speak.

“I've waited all day for this,” Varian growls, running his calloused hands possessively along Zireael's violet sides as she arches upwards to press herself to him. “Do you have _any idea_ how hard it is to sit through trade negotiations when I know I've got a beautiful woman waiting for me?”

Ziri grins up at him in response, and the expression is sharp and borders feral as she reaches up, wraps her arms about his neck, and drags him down for another ravenous kiss.

“You aren't the only one who's had to wait, my King.” Zireael's voice is breathless and thick with lust; her lavender cheeks have turned a royal purple color with the blush blossoming across her face, and her starlight-pale eyes seem to seethe like twin, silver flames as she stares up at her love and at last opens herself to him, conceding their earlier struggle for dominance.

“Come, then,” she murmurs with a softer, coy little smile. “Let's hurry and make up for lost time.”

He needs no further encouragement, and offers her a savage grin of his own as he leans down and drags his teeth across her jaw and down the side of her neck, nipping and sucking at the tender flesh there until it bruises. Ziri writhes in pleasure and drags clawed hands along his back, encouraging him, urging him onward with a throaty groan as one knee comes up as though triggered by his ministrations.

He gentles - barely - as he moves lower still, mouthing now at the graceful sweep of her collarbone as one weathered hand slides up along her torso to cup her breast. The nipple is already firm, and stands at eager attention as he runs the pad of his thumb in a slow, tight circle around it.

His other hand travels down, across the smooth line of her hip and inward towards the heated cleft between her thighs. Ziri parts her legs willingly beneath him, moaning deep in her throat as she drags her own hands farther down to grasp encouragingly at the hard muscles of his backside, but Varian does not move to bury himself within her just yet.

Though there is scarcely anything at all about the King of Stormwind that could be called delicate or gentle, his fingers are surprisingly clever, and he puts that to good use now, teasing and riling his lover so that within a few moments she runs absolutely slick against his hand. The sensation rouses a great, thunderous need within him, as do the increasingly desperate little noises Zireael emits as he dips his fingers into the core of her for a final time.

“Quit _teasing_ me,” Ziri grumbles, though her breathless complaint is softened by the ripple that passes along her body as her muscles tighten down spasmodically against another wave of pleasure.

Varian grins up at her and makes sure to withdraw his hand as slowly as possible, intentionally caressing her clit until she groans and arches hard against him.

“I don't know,” he rumbles, “I'm rather enjoying the sounds I'm getting out of you.”

Ziri growls now, playful irritation flashing across her features as she brings her hands up along the length of his back again, dragging her fingertips hard into his skin as she hauls herself up to capture his mouth with her own. Varian chuckles, but caught as he is between her desire for him and his own passion, he finds himself unable to keep from claiming her any longer, and when Ziri finally allows him to pull away he at last shifts to line his hips up against her own.

For all the savagery of their foreplay - and all the fury for which Stormwind's mighty king is known - Varian isn't cruel in his lovemaking. When he moves to penetrate his mate, rather than ramming forward and hilting himself all at once, he moves forward slowly, gently, always carefully gauging her response to him. He's large, more so than most men, and while there's no denying the smug satisfaction that brings him it _does_ mean that he has to take more care than most not to hurt his lover.

There's a second, somewhat more selfish reason for the careful way in which he enters her - more selfish, and arguably more base, as well. Quite simply put, for all his impatience to take Zireael and wring her pleasure and his from their joining, Varian is just as keen to slow down and savor the moment they first come together. The warm, rich heat of his lover pressing around him and the soft, shuddering little sigh Ziri breathes out as he finally sheathes himself fully are more powerful aphrodisiacs than anything else in all the world, sending passion scorching through his veins as he slowly begins to thrust.

“Varian,” Zireael coos, rocking her own hips to match his movements. The last trace of impatience swiftly bleeds away from her face as she tips her head back, pushing her scalp into the pillows beneath her and baring her long, lithe neck to Varian as he leans down to make another trail of kisses across her skin.

Between the two of them they soon manage to strike a perfect, steadily quickening rhythm that rocks the sturdy bed beneath them. Soft, sighing moans quickly turn to coarse growls and sharply drawn breaths through gritted teeth, and caresses that had begun to grow slow and gentle now once again become rough and demanding as king and consort begin their final, heady downward spiral into the depths of their shared passion.

Zireael is the first to reach her climax, and she does so in a truly spectacular fashion, arching her back so suddenly that her belly slams up against Varian as a ragged, animal snarl tears itself from the depths of her throat. Her hands spasm where they clutch at Varian's gluts, her fingers digging into his skin hard enough that it remains pale for several moments after she at last falls limp again beneath him.

The sight of her rapture is raw and primal, and for that the beauty of it is matched only by the fluid stillness of her repose as she lays boneless in the wake of it. The sight is enough to drive Varian over the edge moments behind her, and he tumbles down into his own blazing, white-hot release with just as much enthusiasm.

They lay together in the breathless aftermath in sated, quivering silence, warm and robbed for a few endless moments of all strength or will to move. For all their urgency before, now king and consort are utterly content to simply let themselves exist, and to allow the world to continue spinning along without them, if only for a little while. They are safe within the walls of Stormwind Keep, and safer still so long as they remain together, and all the kingdom and everyone within it can wait for them to enjoy this stolen moment of serenity.

The silence draws on as their breaths grow soft and steady once again, but neither of them dozes. They are each sated only partially, and only for the moment even then, and eventually their bodies begin to simmer once again with renewed desire.

Zireael is the first to raise her head, grinning slyly at her King as she trails one hand along the hard muscles of his arm.

“That was a wonderful warm up, my King,” she murmurs. “But I fear it's only riled me even further.”

Varian chuckles, and leans close to drag his teeth along the side of her neck - gently, though only for the moment.

“Is that so?” he rumbles. “In that case, I'll have to be more thorough...”


End file.
